Akhem Morkos
Biography For a man who has lived a hundred lives, there isn’t much to say. He was born in the New Kingdom during the eighteenth dynasty and served in their version of the military. It was a long time ago, such a long time that he’d rather not speak more of it in remembrance because he no longer knows which truth came from his memories and which truth came from the books he’s been keeping watch. He’s been in existence longer than most civilizations have had formal governments. He’s seen them rise up and fall down and men circle the globe and commonwealths form and colonies revolt. He died in battle long ago, a dagger to the heart when direct combat was more of the norm and muskets did not exist, then he woke up in the middle of his burial ceremony drowning in maggots. It was at that moment, after the curses and the benedictions, that he realized that it’s going to be a long, long, long life. He spent the years wandering: a nomad of sorts that went where the wind took him. He circled Mesopotamia and later on Athens; spent lifetimes in fluctuating the fatherland and the peninsula, taking on names and discarding identities not unlike his treatment of clothing essentials. He fought in wars and attended schooling. He became numerous things that helped shape centuries of rule or tides of battle and tried to do the only thing that he can’t physically stop but metaphorically do: he tried to live. In the span of his seemingly unlimited life, he’s had forty-six lovers, sixty-eight children, a plethora of descendants, and thirty-seven cats. Some stood out more than others, a few he barely remembers if it weren’t for his painstakingly accurate record keeping. It’s written in between the pages of a pocket moleskine, names and their significance to him. The first name has always been Nefrubity, his first wife and sister. There are a hundred more names in that list, some renowned, others famous, but most forgotten into the annals of time. He’s lived a life most would classify as charmed, impervious to lasting death and harm, but he’s also had people die in his arms and seen bodies flung by bombs and blood seep into his shirt and let his nails be coated in it’s dried flecks. Desperation was a welcome friend in those days, keeping misery and heartbreak company. But then came San Francisco in the summer heat and he was alone, recently having lost this latest lover. He fell asleep in a townhouse he had bought when highbrow morality was at its peak and society rendered him to a butler to his lover because of his skin and his features– not that much has changed now, but Americans had always been easily blinded by money. He woke in an unfamiliar place and that went as well as one could imagine. Time flew and as much as he tries to remember, it’s a blank canvas. He’s been told years passed, but years mean almost nothing to him so he does what every other person should do in his place: survive. More years pass and he managed to adapt, putting his life together again and going to Johns Hopkins University where he earned his Medical Degree. Akhem Morkos, as he goes by now, works at the Good Samaritian Hospital in Puyallup, Washington, treating patients whose illnesses are a mystery to other doctors. It is quite easy for him after all, all he has to do is touch them and they heal. On his off hours however, he is still trying to find out what caused his amnesia.